A few years ago I made Christmas stockings for very special children in the family.
I decided to update them today – to add something each year as a surprise so there is both treasured familiarity, continuity and memories and some excitement too!
I didn’t want to make totally new – I like the idea of valuing and adding to what we have
We still have the ones my grandmother made for us and what memories they hold…
keep breathing, keep stitching!
a way through will become clear!
5 brooches – embellished with stitches with beautiful names
french knots, bullion knots, raised chain band, herringbone, buttonhole
beads to catch the eye and light..
Not originally a family quilt this one I hold close
So loved and pre-loved …
It is threadbare – worn, faded, torn – the wadding showing through, so beautifully soft to touch – those are the qualities I treasure. The colours are delicate and subtle, mixed with strong indigo blues.. The piecing is balanced, soothing but always offering interest where the eye rests..
When I was a child and ill, I would lie on a sofa by the fire wrapped in a quilt or eiderdown
I used to gaze at the patterns and colours and stitching. I find I still do.
The quilting, in white cotton thread, is so rhythmic, so meditative. And then, on the borders, best seen from the back, the stitching flows – how it flows!
The last of the poems from my canal reflections work for now… a pause is needed whilst I return to some other stitch work and show progress with it…
I spent a while trying to capture the kingfisher to share here – I had 2 or 3 photos which showed glimpses – but so slight, so fleeting, so tiny.. Elusive, precious, maybe another time…
A kingfisher.. My caught breath frozen fast opening my heart
A flash of turquoise blue searing my vision. Sudden, startling, rare
A heron.. Grey, still, absorbed. I stand watching, waiting, eyes at a slight blur. Slow, calm, familiar
A cat, paws folded under,
Private, resilient, resourceful.
A kettle steaming,
Woodsmoke curling and rising.
A door ajar
A glimpse into a layered world.
Reality, dream, myth..
Scarlet red geraniums on my kitchen windowsill
Papery leaves straggling the pungent crushed scent in my hands
A meeting, a recognition Loosely nurtured likewise on a barge roof in the morning sun the colour calling in greeting
A bee winding a flight path between the two Buzzing with thought